Just Hanging Around
by Motive Robot
Summary: Sasuke is hanging around and the annoying sound of whistling isn't helping matters.


**Just Hanging Around**

** A/N: **It'd be nice if you could tell me about any inconsistencies or mistakes.

**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.

* * *

_Just a little more..._

Fingers strained to reach the railing standing mockingly tall above him. Sirens could be distantly hear coming closer to where he was, causing him to grit his teeth at the speed they were advancing at. His body felt impossibly heavy here, dangling by one exhausted arm from a twenty story building. He was just thankful it was night and that he was on the side that was facing the alleyway; he wouldn't be caught as quickly here.

_Come on... Only a bit more..._

It was taking too impossibly long to reach that rail mocking him with its short distance from his fingertips. He needed to get out of here soon; he could hear the sirens and see the blinding, artificial lights of the police cars, but for the love of all humans he just couldn't _reach the rail!_

"Need some help there?" a voice asked quietly, making his fingers slip slightly and leave him dangerously closer to his death. His eyes snapped up to the stranger's, adrenaline making his body tingle and go numb with anxiety, and he quietly cursed his loosening hold on his lifeline.

"No," he bit out sarcastically, forgetting for a moment that this person could probably help him, "I'm doing _perfectly_ fine here, dangling from _twenty stories off the ground_, but thanks for asking."

He could make out some features of the unknown person, but he could care less considering the troubling situation he was in. In the cold wind, an orange scarf joyously trailed behind the man wearing a black coat, and a similar black cap rested on his head, covering all facial features with the help of the moonless night except for the grin. A languid laugh danced with the wind into his ears. "Even in your state you could still slap people with your words," he laughed, "Now I'm positive you don't need my help."

He stayed where he was, just looking around the rooftop of the building, not paying anymore attention to him as he sat next to the hand holding tightly onto the rail. He whistled quietly, a careless tune that was off-pitch, and aggravated him with its stupidity. Who whistled like nothing was wrong when there was someone about to fall to their death?

"Will you stop?" he grunted, bringing his other arm up again to reach the other rail. The whistling adamantly continued, cheerful and jumpy.

"If you don't hurry, the cops will get you," was said when he paused in his whistling, looking down over the other edge at the red and blue lights a few roads over. The whistling continued its persistent melody once more, as if he hadn't just told him he might get caught and sent to prison for life if he didn't hurry.

_'This idiot,' _was the beginning of a dark thought that he would probably go through,'_is going to die by my hands, so painfully slowly that I'll have him begging to be kept alive.' _Of course, that was of if he could get himself up. Why was one simple thing so unnecessarily hard to accomplish?

His hand caught the railing, gaining a small, mental cheer of relief and victory from himself and an amused clapping from the one watching his frustration. Thankfully, catching the rail was the only difficult part of his whole predicament, and he was able to ease himself up until he could bring his legs onto the platform of the roof, then his body over the railing, safely on solid ground. He could see the police cars parking haphazardly outside the building, and he cursed himself for his unusual sluggishness.

"What will you do now, little raven?" the stranger asked, devoting his attention to playing with his out-of-place scarf then to look at him.

His eyes narrowed in animosity at the grinning stranger's nickname. This was the person who calmly refused to help him when he should have. It struck an inner debate on whether or not it was worth it to strangle this absurd, clearly *mad* being until he was no more and off to the spirit world. It was very worth it, he decided resolutely, but only if he had time - which he did not have enough of right now. It would seem he'd have to put off on the desired murder and save his own hide before the police reached his location.

"Hey, aren't you going to say anything?" The weird person asked, still not looking at him. After a moment's silence he huffed, clearly expressing his dejection, "How rude of you."

"I'm not the one who didn't help someone in need," was the curt retort.

"Not like you needed it, bastard," was muttered under the stranger's breath. He stood, walked over to him, and stared before unceremoniously reaching into his jacket pocket, causing a quick jolt at the sudden movement before the appendage was gone. With something important of his, of course.

"Sasuke, huh?" the other mused turning the card over, "but there's no last name on this; how disappointing, it's a fake."

"Give it back," Sasuke growled, holding out a demanding hand for his card.

The scarf-wearing idiot laughed at him. He had the audacity to laugh *at him*. He leaned against the rail serenely with a half-smile on his lips, "There's no way I'm giving this back. It's mine now, so if you want it, you have to take it from me."

Sasuke rushed toward him, knocking him easily off the edge - something he didn't expect - but the other grabbed onto him and pulled him down with him at the last second. The air blew against his face with such force that it hurt and his stomach was having a panic attack, flipping around as it was. The odd thing was that he heard _laughter_ of all things, and it was coming from the person who pulled him down to his impending doom. "I didn't expect that, but here's your reward."

He could hear screams and yells of the people below them over the air rushing through his ears and his heart's poundings, but he couldn't see the taser that was creeping behind him until he was knocked out. He distantly remembered something being tucked into one of his pockets and a hang-glider being opened around the seventh story. After that, though, he only remembered darkness.

* * *

It was noon when he woke up again to find himself in a bed, one that he recognized as one belonging to the hotel some blocks down the building where he could have died. He laid uncomfortably for a few minutes, digesting what had happened, and fully sat up once he remembered something inside his pocket. He rummaged around the multiple pockets of his jacket and found the object in one of his hidden pockets that he often used. It was a card - more accurately put, an I.D.

It was most likely fake, he knew, since no one sane would give a random person their I.D., but he looked at it anyway. On the left side there was a picture of a grinning blonde-haired man, holding up two fingers in the classic peace sign.

_'Definitely fake,'_ he confirmed. He continued reading the information and flipped it over to the back to see if there was anything there, and, to his surprise, there was. In small black print, it read:

_I don't appreciate people stealing my things, so I decided to take it back._

At the bottom, it was signed in fancier print, _Naruto, the owner of the building you were hanging around._


End file.
